A High Price
by Cosette Fauchelevent
Summary: The barricades of 1832 failed, but a majority of Les Amis survive. Enjolras notes a strange change of behaviour in Combeferre and decides to enquire, only to be met with a harsh and tragic circumstance. Rated T for character death and blood.


The June barricades accounted to nothing. Miraculously, most of the insurgents at the Corinthe survived unscathed, save for Bahorel and Jehan Prouvaire who had died before the majority of rebels could make their retreat. An entirety of one year had passed since then, but Enjolras had not given up on his goals for a free France. What was left of the Friends of the ABC still convened often, ever planning a new attempt at renewing the republic.

However, over the past three weeks, Enjolras had noticed that Combeferre had been showing up less and less to meetings, and when he did appear, he seemed tired and withdrawn. Enjolras could tell something was wrong, and did not understand as to why his friend had not said anything. He resolved to pay Combeferre an impromptu visit to discover the cause of his friend's sudden behaviour change and, if he was able, help him.

Enjolras decided to pay an impromptu visit the following Thursday, knocking lightly on his friend's door,  
"Augustin? It's Francois. May I come in?" he called through the wood, expecting to hear Combeferre's voice inviting him in. Combeferre had given him a key a few months previously, but Enjolras had never felt the need to use it in the past.  
He was greeted with silence. Enjolras tried once more, still amounting to little. Enjolras began to get worried. Combeferre would not be out so early on Thursdays; his classes did not start until after mid-day, and he usually breakfasted with Courfeyrac and Joly at around eleven; at that time, it was nine thirty.

Biting his lip, Enjolras dug into his pocket and pulled out the key. He slid it into the lock, turned it and pushed the door open.  
"Augustin, where are you?" Enjolras asked, stepping into Combeferre's flat, closing the door as he went.  
A sharp wheezing sound caught his attention, coming from the bathroom. Alarmed, Enjolras crossed over to the bathroom door and swung it open. He took a double take when he saw the source.

Combeferre was on his hands and knees on the floor, hacking into a chamberpot. His dark curls were loose and covered in a sheen of sweat, which also glistened on his forehead. Enjolras, for once struck completely dumb with horror, was frozen to the spot. Combeferre suddenly dry heaved and vomitied copiously into the chamberpot, the foul smelling bile streaked with red. When he was finished, he shuddered and keeled over.  
Enjolras, his mind suddenly restored to him, lunged forward and caught Combeferre as he fell and sat him up.

Combeferre's eyes, though distant and hazed, widened,  
"Francois, why are you here?" he rasped, trying to get his heavy breathing under control.  
"I was worried about you" Enjolras replied, "And worried for your wellbeing. You are ill."  
"I _am_ aware of that" Combeferre replied coolly, "and I have tried to remedy it, with very little success"  
Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but Combeferre interrupted,  
"If we are to talk, and I believe that we should, would you please help me to my bed?"

Enjolras nodded, glancing every now and then at Combeferre worriedly, and helped him shakily to his feet. Hooking an arm around his shoulders, Enjolras walked his friend to his bedroom, pulling back the sheets and laying Combeferre in. Upon impulse, Enjolras pressed the back of his hand to Combeferre's forehead and recoiled almost instantly,  
"My god, you're burning!" he exclaimed, "Fever. How long has this been going on?"  
"For about three weeks now." Combeferre replied, trying in vain to withhold another round of coughs, "I think I contracted it at Necker."  
"Why did you not tell me? Or any of us for the matter?"  
"I was sure that I could get myself better. I asked my professor about dosage for a fever patient, and followed his instruction. But it is failing to work"  
"Surely your medicine is taking a prolonged delay and="  
"I am dying, Francois" Combeferre replied bluntly.  
Enjolras stared at him, shaking his head,  
"You are jesting, surely, Augustin" he said in disbelief.  
Combeferre shook his head lightly before another wave of rasping, although more violent and vicious. Small specks of red flecked and Combeferre's lips and another sheen of sweat glazed his forehead.  
"Augustin, you are not thinking about this!" Enjolras stressed, clasping his friend's hand

"Francois," Combeferre choked, "If I were to get better, it would have happened by now. I have studied medicine and dealt with ill men long enough to know when a man is dying"

"We have already lost Prouvaire and Bahorel, please do not let our number decrease even more"

"Those days of June are gone, Francois. We must forget them, look to the future"

"The way you speak of yourself would say you think you have no future" Enjolras said, looking Combeferre dead in the eye.

"That is because I do not." Combeferre choked, breaking off mid sentence to hack into his sleeve, "You, however, do. You will live to see France freed."  
"So must you."  
"I will not, as I have said" Combeferre rasped, groaning as Enjolras wiped off some sweat on his forehead with his sleeve, "But you do. And that is final"  
"I will miss you, my friend." Enjolras said sadly, closing his eyes in acceptance "We have been companions since infancy."  
"Then you can tell my family when I have passed"  
"Augustin-"  
"No, Francois, no!" Combeferre protested, sitting up despite Enjolras' efforts, then stopping to hack and splutter furiously, his long, loose locks flapping over his face and sticking to the sweaty skin.

He lurched forward and Enjolras caught him, resting his head on his shoulder, rubbing his back comfortingly as the dark haired man convulsed violently with every breath.  
"Hush, Augustin mon ami," Enjolras whispered, "It will be over soon."  
"Yes, it shall" Combeferre hacked out between coughs, gripping onto Enjolras tighter and tighter, his eyes clamped shut.  
After five minutes straight of painful cough after painful cough, Enjolras felt something wet and hot splat onto his back, and Combeferre's tense form went limp.

"Augustin?"  
No answer.  
"Combeferre, my friend? Augustin?"  
Enjolras laid Combeferre back and immediately his breath caught in his throat, tears stinging at his eyes.  
Combeferre, skin deathly pale and yellow tinged, a ring of red around his mouth, dark blue eyes staring blindly at the sky, was dead.  
Enjolras slid Combeferre's eyes shut and pressed a kiss, the third in his life, to Combeferre's still hot forehead.  
It was then that Enjolras completely broke, sobbing unashamedly, mourning his friend, companion and guide.

* * *

**A/N: This is really bad, I know. I wrote it at 2am this morning after getting annoyed about My Immortal. (and the Les Mis equivalent. No, really, there is one)**


End file.
